Meet You in Paradise
by Hearts of the Innocent
Summary: [AU] The struggle for life is often in vain, but Paradise is there to meet us after death. Edward must learn this lesson for himself, and through the memories of those who have perished. Only then can he be freed from this raging guilt... EdxWin
1. Despereat Request: Winry

_**Meet You In Paradise:**_ [AU The struggle for life is often in vain. But Paradise is there to meet us after death. Edward must learn this lesson for himself, and through the memories of those who have perished. Only then can he be freed from this raging guilt…

* * *

A/N: This started out as an oneshot but I decided to break it up a little because it was kind of long. You never know, maybe I'll get a better response this way. I've decided to make it T just for the violence. Also, there will be Biblical reference. 

There is slight EdxWin but nothing dramatic. A bittersweet 3-shot, if you will.

Meet You in Paradise

Part 1

-

_Disclaimer: I do not own FMA_

_Hearts of the Innocent_

_-_

_"Oh, its a cold, cold stone wall  
One hand, one face against the wall  
I watch the people and they're each weighing their private losses  
And the cold sweet morning air surrounds a crop of blank white crosses._

_I'm reading, I'm not believing  
That they're all just names on a wall  
Once living, they were once breathing  
Now they're, they're all just names on a wall  
Just names on a wall…"_

_--_

**T**he ground gave a violent shudder and Winry caught hold of a bedside bar to steady herself. The trembling ceased and she quickly righted herself and proceeded with the care of the patient before her. A man whose name remained unknown to her, gave a guttural shriek, clawing at the bloody gouge in his eye. Debris to the socket and a bullet to the thigh. A lesser set of wounds she had seen all evening but no less serious.

Several pairs of hands that she did not recognize held down the man's flailing legs and arms while she pried the bullet out of his thigh, dousing the wound in peroxide to help prevent infection, and quickly bandaging it up.

Bloodied to the elbows, the task was taken over by another when the sound of her name was heard above the bustling commotion and the agonizing cries of men.

"Winry!" Riza, the head nurse of the sect called to her. "Another bed! A shot to the abdomen, a seared leg, and a hit to the head—possible concussion."

Before Riza had finished the brief orientation, the young nurse had already scrubbed her hands and was setting out the pallet when two worn soldiers came hauling in a man by the legs and the armpits, and one whose mouth was full of an assortment of colorful words. Winry winced. Three years of this taxing occupation had hardened her stomach so that it did not clench at the metallic smell or swim at the sight of blood. But at the sight of this man her stomach had undoubtedly dropped and bile rose to the back of her throat.

Landmine victims were always the worst. Though the man was fortunate enough to have kept his arm and leg, they had been reduced to a bloody mass of shattered bones and shredded cloth. A brutal gash to the belly revealed the lining of the gut that, gratefully, had not been punctured. There was a cut to his brown but was not as serious as his other causalities.

"Take me back!" the man roared. "My brother is still out there!"

Such a display of vile rage was not an uncommon sight from wounded men whose mind still lay on the battlefield. As practiced, his demands were ignored in favor of his wounds.

Winry attended to the man's brow while Ashley and Sarah, two fellow nurses of her sect, attended to his lower body. Soaking a soft cloth in warm water, she wiped away the years dirt and the gore away from his face with the same tenderness and compassion she gave all the wounded who came in here. Wild, piercing amber eyes found hers and she gasped.

"Edward!"

The battered solder's eyes were confused as they darted across her face.

Shaken to the core, she helped him nonetheless. "Winry,"

"Win-ry?" Recognition finally flickered in his burning gaze—as did his disbelief. Neither had expected this reunion. Neither had expected a reunion of any sort. And this was the last place Winry had wanted to meet up with her childhood friend. No words were exchanged but Edward's glorious eyes suddenly turned pleading. He grasped her blood coated hand.

"Winry, please, Al's still alive. They left him because they thought he died. Please, Winry. He's just down the ridge by the river. He's practically right outside the door of the medical tent…"

His desperate pleas broke her heart and the knowledge that Al was dying shattered it. The war had not been kind to either of the brothers.

"What can I do?" It was an honest enough question. What could she do? Winry was no soldier, she was a nurse. What he asked of her, as much as she hated to analyze the meaning, had been undeniably cruel. There was no way she could survive long enough to make it to Alphonse.

Edward strained a look at her as if to say, _are you serious_?

"You can go after him!" The soldier demanded, outraged.

"Let's tend to your wounds first. Settle down." Her voice sounded terribly indifferent; a tone she adapted to to protect her and to keep her emotionally distant from her patients

His eyes grew wild with anger and Ed struggled against his bindings. "Don't you care?" he spat thoughtlessly into her face. "Alphonse was your friend—my brother!"

His words were like a fist that connects solidly to the gut, leaving her breathless and in agony. The bustling activity in the oppressive medical tent increased. Riza, who had been watching the exchanged closely, finally intervened.

"Winry," she said with a glare at Ed. "Take bed forty-four. I'll take over here."

Still trembling, Winry quickly turned her back to leave. And emotional distance from that man was impossible. She fought against the tears.

Watching her fading form, Edward Elric cried out in a voice filled with such desperation that she had never before heard and was momentarily shocked. Winry reluctantly faced him only to be greeted by the utter hopelessness darkening his orbs; anguish riveted in the lines of his face.

"Alphonse is dying." he whispered. "_Please…"_

…

Winry made it to her cot before she fell prey to the numbness of her legs and collapsed with a strangling sob.

Alphonse was still out there, was still alive. But he was dying, and Edward Elric had thrust Al's fate into her calloused hands by his desperate request. Hell, they were in an active zone and he wanted her to brave it for the sake of one man when she had been drafted here to save the many.

Her first initial instinct and desire was to dash through dangerous territory to go to Al for how could it not? He was her dearest friend. But Winry had given her promise, her duty, her very life into nursing theses broken soldiers back to health and giving them temporary relief in a hell-hole of fear. If Winry were to die out there, then the staff would be down yet another nurse. They were already short handed enough as it was.

Unintentionally, her eyes fell upon the small, leather-bound journal the Elric brothers had given her on her eighteenth birthday under her cot. She reached for it, coddling it like precious silver in her lap. She opened it.

_"Paradise is to be the ultimate instrument, fulfilling God's desperate intent that we love each other. The music people… they give thanks for the gift and reflect the love."_

She placed her hand over her mouth in an attempt to hold back a sob.

_"Then he said, 'Jesus, remember me when You come into Your Kingdom!' And he said to him. 'I assure you: Today you will be with Me in paradise." – Luke 23:43_

The many endless debates she and Al had on the subject of Paradise and the many of God's promises came back to her in a flood. Her arms wound tightly around her breasts, as if holding in the emotion would prevent her from feeling the excruciating pain of decision or the overshadowing sense of fear threatening to break her.

Winry made her decision within a matter of seconds and hurriedly scribbled down the last of her thoughts in the final pages in her journal, knowing that this could be her end. But her resolve held steady.

Al was her friend. She _would not_ let him die alone.

* * *

_Please Review!_


	2. Into Paradise: Alphonse

A/N: I've left subtle hints as to what war this takes place it. A chibi Edward to whoever can guess it correctly

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Part Two:

"_Oh, I press my ear to the wall  
I hear a helicopter, a bomb explode, I hear the echoes of a thousand  
souls _

"And then one young face he says, "Please, remember me"  
I want to set him free  
But all I see is blank white crosses far to infinity…" 

_-_

**E**scaping the bustling people was easy enough and Winry couldn't help but feel the pang of remorse as she left so many hurting men unattended, but she dashed forward at a steady jog nonetheless. The moment she set foot out into the open, Winry's heart started beating frantically inside her chest. She ran faster.

Winry knew enough about combat to know that so long as she could hear the distant sound of gunfire, she was relatively safe. But it was when silence was like a deafening roar she knew she had to worry.

The underbrush was thick and she struggled against jutting branches digging into her side and thorns scratching her face and arms. Fifteen minutes, it seemed, had passed before Winry reached the river and she was horrified by the sight she saw.

It had been a mine field. Massive craters littered the ground and soldiers from both sides scattered the field as tangled, bloodied masses left to rot in the July sun. She gasped brokenly, only to have the heady stench of seared flesh burn her nostrils. Somehow she managed not to heave but instead ended up hunched over, grasping a tree for support.

_Alphonse_,a voice whispered to her, bringing her back from the horror. _You must find Alphonse._

"Al!" she called, desperately searching the mass of dead bodies. "Alphonse!"

It seemed like a hopeless cause. The river was both long and wide and Ed had not been specific at where Al had been left. The few men that still clung stubbornly to the thinning thread of Fate, cried out to her, thinking her a daughter or a wife that they had been fighting for. Compassion was in her nature and Winry felt like Satin himself as she turned away in favor of one particular man. Bitter tears poured down her face.

"Alphonse!"

_Behind you,_ the quiet whisper said again.

Winry obeyed; eyes scanning the fallen men for any sign of movement… Ah! Relief flooded her as she caught sight of a familiar blond mane. Al was still alive! Rushing toward him, Winry fell to her knees and, as carefully as she could, pulled her wounded friend onto her lap.

"Al," she cried brokenly.

Her childhood friend looked at her as if she were a dream or a distant memory of the past.

"Winry?" He whispered, eyes widening slightly. "...dead?"

"No, you're not dead—I'm not dead. We're both _here._"

This seemed to pull the suffering man from his daze and his gray eyes stared up at her more clearly.

"Not that I'm not glad to see you," he chuckled dryly. "But why are you out _here_?"

"Ed told me where you were and I had to come. I couldn't let you die, not like this—not when I knew you were still alive." She soothed back the hair from his face and the grime from his eyes.

"Brother is an idiot." Al said with such vehemence that Winry was stunned. "He shouldn't have sent you out here—Winry, it's dangerous."

"I know." Winry paused in her attempt to calm him as his shoulders shook with violent coughs and shudders. "He was wounded when he told me, but he is fine, Al, Edward is okay! I came out here to find you."

"You can't save me, Winry."

His quiet statement brought her awareness to the grave beating of her own heart. Not wanting to believe it but knowing the inevitable truth was staring her in the face, she forced herself to stare at his wounds, at the gaping hole inside his chest and the burns along his body until she finally closed her eyes.

"I know." The anguish tore past lips.

"And yet you still came?"

At his quiet reprieve, Winry couldn't help but give him a small, sad, knowing smile that brought back years of memories for the dying soldier.

"In my heart I knew I couldn't save you the moment I decided to come find you, Al. I never expected to go back."

Emotion stronger than any he had ever felt consumed him and Al took in a shuddering breath. Brother didn't deserve their childhood friend. Edward had taken advantage of his ties with Winry in his broken rage to return to him. Now Winry was being condemned to the same fate as he. It was pointless abandonment. The enemy was planning to destroy the area.

"Brother always lo-loved you, Winry," He began to choke again. "But he never deserved you."

Tears began to slip from beneath her silvery lashes and she gave him a weak smile, saying nothing.

Suddenly the whistling of neither bombs nor the constant sound of gunfire could be heard in their final haven, instead a deafening silence took its place; her blood rushed past her ears. She looked down at Al's pain-stricken face for any proof that he understood what was about to happen. He looked at her, nodded, and closed his eyes. Winry knelt above him as if to shield him from any more harm, pressing her face against his.

"Paradise?" she whispered.

He smiled, clearly remembering, and his lips moved against her ear. _"I'll meet you there."_

From there, all was instantaneous. Wrapped around in a blinding, fiery pain that, for mere seconds consumed them, a blanket of nothingness fell upon them like a shower of mercy. All was gone.

The bomb had struck.

…

_Some time later_

The earth shook with such terrifying force that Ed was jostled to awareness from his drugged sleep. A silent alarm, it seemed, had rung through the medical tent for nurses and soldiers alike were quickly hauling the wounded out of the tent. Vaguely, he was aware of a rhythmic pulse and the swaying of the tents that made his heart pound in panic.

'_What's happening?'_

Fighting the drugs in his body, he heard words like "too late" and "they're here, now we must move quickly" but it came out in such a jumbled heap that it made no sense to his battered mind. The tent flap opened and a new pallet carrying a dying soldier was brought in, and Ed watched, fixated, as they quickly placed him in the empty cot beside his own.

This was different, though, for the filmy, blood-saturated sheet formed the body and covered the head—no movement from beneath. As the body was jostled, a hand fell from beneath the sheets—a blood stained hand, unmistakably feminine. His eyes widened.

"Who…" He gasped to a passing nurse. "Is that?"

The nurse—the cold, unyielding one that had taken over his care from Winry, stared at him with those hard golden eyes that failed to show how far her sadness actually ran. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

Ed wasn't aware of the tears streaming down his face, only of the ocean of grief he was suffocating in.

"_Winry,"_ Her name became his roar of anguish. Her absence became his ocean of grief.

…

Riza Hawkeye watched in a sort of numbed state as the wounded were hoisted into the helicopters in a matter of seconds. When the strange contraption became full, it would lift from the ground with a mighty rush of wind and disappear quickly into the sky and to safety.

She must have been shouting orders for her voice was dry and hoarse, but she couldn't quite remember. The Elric boy's stricken face kept appearing in her mind's eye. But greater still was the sight of Winry's mangled body haunting her every thought. Winry had been her _friend_, one of the few Riza had allowed herself.

And the war had taken her also.

Unknowingly her hands clenched Winry's leather-bound journal tightly in her hand. She would not let Winry be forgotten—not like the many to die before her. Never. Winry would always be alive.

Her eyes caught sight of the Elric-boy being lifted into the waiting helicopter. He looked dead.

…

"You guys are gonna be okay now, ya hear? We're going home…"

The man's encouraging words brought him little comfort for the jarring of the machine made his body throb in agony. But still he couldn't help but listen, frozen in shock and hallucinating images that made him want to weep again.

It was Winry, seemingly of flesh and blood and _whole_, standing in the near corner of the crowded helicopter. But no one seemed to notice her, no one but him.

"_It's going to be alright, Edward,"_ she said, smiling down at him warmly. _"You're safe now."_

"Winry…" he choked.

"_You're going home, just like you swore to me you would."_

His chest constricted painfully and her name was uttered from his lips in a groan. Why was he doing this to himself? He had killed Winry. Her memory should be cursing him right now.

Her visage fell. _"Please don't forget me, Ed."_

The wounded soldier was nearly undone right then. "_Never_," he told her fiercely. "I will _never_ forget you!"

The smile returned to her features and she nodded. _"I love you."_

And with that Winry faded into a mere apparition until her person faded completely from his vision. He cried out to her desperately, not wanting her to leave him alone for good, this time. If only he could keep her for a while longer—if just to apologize, even if she had been but an image conjured up by his memory. If only she were alive…

Now he was completely alone and the raging guilt and emptiness fell on him like a heavy, suffocating blanket. Maybe, just maybe it had all been a dream.

But he knew better.

"Don't leave me, _Winry…_"

* * *

_Bah… no one likes these kind of stories (I wonder why) but I had to write it because I loved it. Sadly enough, no one is reviewing. But I am thankful for the few reviews that I did get. :)_

_So to the rest of you guys who think 'Ah, someone else will review' well… it's because of you that such terrible and tragic story plots come into my head. So if you want happier stories… review, please. _

_Or at least do it for the sake of my sanity. Come one, there's only one chapter left._

_Much love, HOTI_


	3. Sunrise: Edward

**A/N**: For your history lesson. It was in Vietnam War that helicopters were first introduced and were first tested in transporting the sick and the wounded from the battleground. Also, the rank of Winry mentioned in this chapter is a real rank belonging to Sharon Ann Lane who died of shrapnel wounds when her sect was hit by rockets on June 8, 1969, and who was working in the same area mentioned in the story. My dates for Winry do not match Sharon Ann Lane's, though and neither does the base. I've just altered them to fit the story.

My thanks and my love to all who have sacrificed themselves for the U.S.

Thanks to all you guys who have show your support for this short story and I honestly hope you enjoy it

Part 3

…_I'm reading, I'm not believing  
That, they're all just names on a wall  
Once living, they were once breathing  
Now they're all just names on a wall  
They're just names on a wall… _

Just names on a wall 

_-Unknown

* * *

_

_Many years later_

**M**any sunrises had risen and sunsets had fell since they had found Edward Elric, a Grunt in the U.S. Army alive. He survived long enough to witness the end of the Vietnam War, had survived long enough to see the building of the Black wall of names, honoring all his brothers and sisters in the Service.

Yet he could not bring himself to visit the memorial in person.

Not a day had gone by when the faces and the cries of his brothers had not haunted his dreams, nor had they ever been very far from his thoughts. But the two faces he so desperately wanted to see refused to show themselves. Even in his memories, Al and Winry's face was foggy and unclear. For years it had driven him mad. And so like a dying man searching for life, he had sought out for old photos but none of their late day selves could be found. But the pictures he did find did little to ease his fear for he found that in his haze to remember he had also forgotten the sound of their voices.

It would still awake him in sweat and tears, but somehow he had survived through the years. Whether it had been the last look in Winry's eyes, pleading him to live on, or her smile of bittersweet happiness, he did not know.

But he had lived. Maybe not so well as he would have in a prior life, for there were more times than not that he had drowned himself in alcohol and had teetered on the edge of starvation from self-neglect. Edward had not found himself until many years later, but the damage had been already been done to his body. He was now suffering from that, too.

But still he lived in a sort of numbed daze, hardly ever smiling and almost never laughing. It simply hurt too much.

Which is why he was shocked to find, on this day, fifteen years since the end of the Vietnam war, that an unexpected package came to his little apartment in the city; a note attached onto its crinkled brown wrapped paper:

_Edward Elric,_ It read.

_It is because of her last thoughts that I relinquish the memory of my dear friend, Winry Rockbell, into your hands. Don't waste them, Elric; she was one of my girls._

_-Riza Mustang (formerly Hawkeye)_

Feeling his chest tighten at the memory of cold, unyielding eyes, Edward slowly tore open the package and gently slid out a familiar old, worn out leather bound from its neatly wrapped home. His breathing quickened; teeth clenched. Between the old folds of the book, a sepia-toned photo lay nestled. He pulled it out; his delicate movements exaggerated.

The photo was of a group of nurses, judging by their plain white apparel. They stood closely together with grim expressions. His amber eyes zeroed in on _her_ distracted face looking somewhere off to the side. Winry's features were sharper than he remembered, and there were lines on her face from the strain of nursing and her hair was pulled tightly back. He flipped it over.

_First Lieutenant Winry Rockbell at 312__th__ Evac. Hospital, Chu Lai._

Below it read:

_Find her name on the Wall and read her memories there._

He doubled over, gasping.

…

Never in the past fifteen years had Ed ever confessed to having a younger brother nor ever admitted to being in love with his childhood friend. Silently he had carried them within the confines of his mind, agonizing as they slowly slipped away.

And so despite of raw emotions from earlier years threatening to burst, he had obeyed the letter and went the black, granite wall. The Vietnam Memorial. The Great Wall of Names.

The former Army man didn't know how long he stood staring at his reflection in the hard stone, not bringing himself to read each inscription. With a name, there would be a face. It didn't matter that he may have never seen them before; there would still be a filthy soldier, exhaustion written on his painted features staring back at him.

Reminding him that he should have died. _He_ should be up there on that wall.

Shoving his hands into his pockets Ed tore himself away and began to walk the memorial's great length. Vaguely, he was aware of passing men not much older than he openly weeping at the wall. He passed by young ones who gazed at it solemnly, wondering at the depth of their parents' pain.

Ed ignored them as he strode purposely toward a bench placed a few feet from the Wall and, forgetting his earlier reasons from coming there, he pulled out Winry's old journal. With mixed feelings he opened the book and began to read.

…

_October 6, 1972_

_There has been a cry for help from the service and I find that I cannot ignore it. Maybe I could use my small capacity to learn for the benefits of the wounded. I will join the Army as a nurse. My life is in God's hands, now._

_December 18, 1972_

_It's Christmas but even in the midst of the chaos the girls still found time to get a Charlie-Brown tree to place in the corner of the hospital. It warms my heart and reminds me of the Christmases spent with Ed and Al. We all kept each other from becoming lonely. I wonder how they are._

_February 12, 1973_

_Staci was lost to us today. She stepped outside to greet one of the trucks containing our supplies and was shot. It scared all of us, I think, especially Sarah. Not even women are shown mercy in this horrible war._

_What little comfort there is, I shall take. Staci is in a place where there shall be no more sorrow or crying._

_Still, I've never cried so hard in all my life._

The entries continued on and, unbeknownst to Ed, silent tears slid down his face as he read and reread each entry. It was like he had been granted a second chance to know Winry. It was the baring of her soul—her very essence.

_March 2, 1973_

_Ed and Al have been on my mind of late… it worries me. Maybe it's just all the pain and the sadness that have been surrounding us all. And knowing that they could be one of these men, too…_

_May 28, 1973 _

_An epidemic has spread out among the wounded and has even touched the girls. Many of the help are leaving in fear of their lives… I find that I cannot._

_May 30, 1973_

_I've only regretted one thing in my life, and yet that seems to be the one thing that comes back to haunt me. A man on his deathbed pressed into my hand a silver locket with a picture of his love within its silver hinges. He told me of his heart for her and asked me to tell her how much he loved her. I told him I would so he could at least go in peace._

_It broke my heart that I had to lie._

_It was only then that I realized that I had been lying to myself all along, also._

"_Edward Elric, I'm in love with you."_

_It's a shame that I'll never get to say it to him. I don't even know if I could._

Night had fallen and a grown man weeping on a bench was bound to draw attention. He took comfort that here at the wall it was not an uncommon sight. He continued to read through the pages until two years had passed through them and nearly and hour and a half hand passed in the reality.

_February 15, 1975_

"_Anyone who has an ear should listen to what the Spirit says to the churches. I will give the victor the right to eat from the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God." – Revelation 2:7_

_I kept this verse close to my heart because Al was the one who first mention it to me. Neither of us has known at the time that it would lead into a full-fledged debate. He says Paradise will be a grand utopia filled with people who are able to live together without the desire to hurt. I told him he was silly because it would be just like earth, more or less. But I imagine Paradise as I would heaven, for they are the same. I picture all of God's beauty at its fullest and I picture the sun as his grace._

_Ed called Al an idiot and me a stereotypical Romantic. He said there was nothing after death. I pity him for his outlook. With the belief that there is nothing after death, we have all that much more to fear. Ah, well. Maybe he came around._

_February 28, 1975_

_I have decided to turn to the sunrise. Too many times I have been frighteningly caught up in the depression and the hopelessness of all the situations I am forced into. I can't keep going like this._

_This morning I watched the sun as it rose high into the sky and realized that it was a reminder that no matter how hard or terrible that day may have been, it will fade and a new day will take its place. And while we struggle for survival on this violent land, the sunrise is the same here as it is back in the states as is the promise that lives behind it._

_Whenever I loose hope, I'll look there._

_March 1, 1975_

_I, along with some of my fellow nurses, have been transferred directly to the field._

_Something is going to happen. I can sense it.  
_

_March 14, 1975_

_Never have I seen such bitter men… It breaks my heart._

The dates were becoming alarmingly familiar to him.

_March 28, 1975_

_Riza met up with Mustang today. The way he looks at her sends chills through my arms. He loves her, I know, and I'm glad that he is alright. Still, it's almost comical at the way she scolds the Colonel. Mustang also found my blueprints to the cars and the helicopters and was quite impressed. He found it odd that a woman would have a passion for mechanics but he said he would contact me in a few months to use my abilities. _

_March 31, 1975_

_I saw him today when I honestly believed that I never would. Edward Elric. And before my chances for happiness are elevated, he tells me that Alphonse is dying. He asked me to go after him._

_I would be lying if I hadn't said I seriously considered not going. It's a deathtrap out there and, surely, I wouldn't make it alive. But Edward stared at me with his pleading amber orbs that held such fear for his younger brother that I was nearly undone._

_After a brief inner struggle I realized that Alphonse was my friend. If he was indeed dying he should not go it alone. None of us have ever been alone, not truly. I have decided to go because of this. I love him like he were my own brother and would do anything for him._

_Should these words live past me (which I'm most certain they will) then I would like them who read it to know that I lived my life as best I could and for the sake of others. With that, I am content and shall forever be. Besides, I'm looking forward to finally settling our debate._

_And should I die in my attempt to go to Al, I do not blame you, Ed. I know you were not really conscious of what you were saying at the time, I understand the effects of war quite well by now. But I found once you told me, once you asked me to find Al I could not deny you. I couldn't deny my serving nature._

_Live on and remember me. Remember Al. For though our legacy may have been destroyed, our ideals live on within those who knew us and then we are never forgotten—not truly._

_I'm facing the sunrise. I'm taking the first step into Paradise._

_-Winry Rockbell_

It was the final entry that had been written a month before the true end of the war. The last of her thoughts. And, ironically enough, the last page in her journal. He had read he journal all the way through, and it had taken him virtually all night for he had stopped frequently to straighten his bearings and to push aside the twisting pain inside his heart. He was left numb and broken once more. All these years he had blamed himself when she had forgiven him from the beginning.

Where did that leave him?

Absolutely nowhere.

With the spotlight shinning upon the wall, Edward chanced a glance toward the names, finally taking them in and reading them. His throat closed with the first name his eyes landed on.

**WINRY ROCKBELL**

And, ironically enough below it read:

**ALPHONSE ELRIC**

It had not been chance that he had chosen this exact place to sit. He was trembling from the rush of emotion. Day was beginning to break but the sun had not yet risen and Ed found himself standing nearer to the wall. He placed one trembling, scarred hand on each side their names and bent his brow low to touch the engraftment.

"I'm so sorry, Winry." He chocked. "I wasn't there for you. I never was. _I'm so sorry."_

…

Much time must have passed for the formerly dark sky began to lighten into a mild gray with the new morning. Though still emotionally shaken, Ed felt relieved to have at least some of the guilt that had weighed heavy upon his shoulders for nearly fifteen years, cast off.

He had asked this woman to do the impossible that had taken her life, and still she had loved him enough to forgive him. If only he could have been so bold to convey his own feelings of the heart before the start of the war.

If only.

Yet had it not been Winry's own words that she had looked to the sunrise to keep from getting trapped in the overwhelming feelings of sadness and hopelessness of life? Had that not been what Winry had done in her determination to make it to Al?

"Mister?"

There was a small tug on his jacket and he looked down to see a little girl staring up at him with bright, wondrous blue eyes.

"The lady told me to give this to you."

Confused, Edward opened his palm and watched as she slipped an old photo into it. He stared at it, dumbfounded and shocked.

"Where's the lady who gave this to you?" he asked in earnest.

Shrugging, the little girl pointed off into a cluster of trees.

"See where the sun touches that bench? She was there."

His eyes darting back and forth and there was no longer anyone standing there (if there ever was) but he recognized the unmistakable scent of fresh gardenias and sunshine. A crooked smile formed the thin line of his lips, knowing that somewhere she was laughing at him.

Ed's old self, his brash self would have ran toward the bench like a madman, but over the years he found he had grown sensitive to those quiet whispers that come to you unbidden, almost as if it were a voice in the wind. _Remember us, Ed_ it breathed.

So instead, he turned to the little girl who was watching him expectantly.

"What's your name, little one?"

"Eleysia."

"Well, Eleysia, do you want to hear a story?" Ed sat and patted the bench seat next to him invitingly.

"Sure!"

Pulling the photo Eleysia had given him, he pointed to it in show. "See this little boy right here? That's my brother, Al."

"He's handsome!"

Ed smiled. "Mhmm, and this little boy is me. Now the girl right here, her name is Winry and she is the woman I fell in love with."

"I saw her. She's very pretty."

A knot tightened in his chest.

"She is, and she always loved to watch the sunrise."

"Like that one?" she pointed to the rising sun.

"Yes, Eleysia, just like that one."

…

**END

* * *

**

_I was feeling a little overwhelmed by this chapter, to be honest. I wanted to get Ed's reactions just right, but yet taking into accord how much time had passed and how his reactions would be as an older man. I actually seriously considered bringing Winry's image back (Like in chapter two) but I thought it would take away from the realism. This way is more believable._

_-_

_And in I seemed too vague on Al and Ed's thoughts on him, then I apologize. Al's death wasn't really his fault. Given the choice he would have died with his brother but the decision was taken away from him. Because it was his request to Winry that sent her onto the field in the fist place, he feels greater guilt over that._

_Thanks for all who reviewed this story! And let me know what you think in a review!_

…

Song inspirations for _Meet You in Paradise_

Still Here Waiting, _Todd Agnew_

See You in the Sunrise, _Bebo Norman_

Mercy_, Bebo Norman_


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